Live music, sleeping with a belly dancer and the Booze Pour

At nearly 6 p.m. Friday, I collected Jade from the babysitter, brought her to a second babysitter, gobbled a spring roll and drove south down the Parks Highway to the Blue Loon.

On stage was a tall, scraggly-voiced man with a railroad cap and gray in his beard. He crooned about getting together, breaking up, farms and fat people.

Afterwards, I joined my friends, the belly dancer, the tequila-drinking grandmother, the Jill of All Trades and the chaplain, at a hippie bar.

We danced until 1 a.m., and I followed home the belly dancer, stealing the side of the bed normally occupied by her cat, Nibbles. We talked until 2:30 a.m.

Sometime around 6 a.m., I heard a thundering noise and the bed swayed. An earthquake. A few more followed.

We rose at about 9 a.m. and I eventually made my way to the airport. A bunch of cops and politicians had gathered for a publicity stunt. They poured out 100 gallons of beer, wine and hard liquor, including more than 200 bottles of R & R whiskey. It was a year’s worth of booze confiscated from bootleggers.

I called a caterer. That’s enough booze to fuel a wedding reception involving roughly 4,000 people. I thought about tucking the bottle of Patron under my shirt.

I wrote up the story, reunited with Lucky and drove up the dome.

A biking freak I know unexpectedly showed up at my door, otherwise it’s been quiet this evening.

The rain barrel is full. It must have rained here while I was gone.

Pictures of my night out—a rare thing—are forthcoming, I hope. Until then, here are some recent snapshots of Jade and of the forest.